


Really Out There

by DevilOfWire



Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [29]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dipper Pines, Cock Slut, Eldritch Bill Cipher, Established Relationship, Glory Hole, Humor, Kinktober 2020, M/M, One Shot, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Telepathic Bonds, Telepathic Sex, Tentacles, Top Bill Cipher, Weird, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: 29. Praise kink | Glory hole | Telepathic bondsNo matter where Dipper goes, there’s always a feeling that follows him. Something weird, something ancient, something beyond human understanding. In every nook, cranny, crevice, right around his bed, waiting for him.Usually it isn’t quite this literal, though. Or horny.Actually, it usually is, come to think of it...
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950421
Comments: 4
Kudos: 185
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Really Out There

**Author's Note:**

> **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Probably a weird fic, oh well! It is Gravity Falls, after all!

Dipper knows there’s something wrong the moment a tentacle spawns directly above him.

Because, well, it’s pretty obvious there’s something wrong when something like that happens on an otherwise ordinary summer night.

He squints his eyes, tired but restless with the ongoing insomnia that seemed to plague him almost every night, just thinking it was a trick of his mind, perhaps a remnant of a dream.

But as his hands move under the thick cotton of the cover, he pinches himself and feels a sharp, obvious pain.

Grimacing slightly, he still isn’t fully convinced, however. Contrary to popular belief, Dipper has felt pain or discomfort in his nightmares many times. So, although it was a pretty good marker most of the time, he needs a little more evidence than that.

So he throws the cover off his body and extends a tentative finger through the cool air.

And the second his finger graces the smooth, slightly slick with God-knows-what-wetness surface of the tentacle, everything changes.

“Missed me?” comes an all-too-familiar, nostalgic voice in his head.

He looks about the room, but there’s no sign of a person, nor anything else that could have produced such intelligent words.

“B-Bill?” he asks to the lonely room. Quietly, just barely a whisper of air, to hopefully not wake his sister in the next room of the house they were renting while attending the same college soon this year.

“So you haven’t forgotten,” a laugh.

“But hasn’t it only been, er, a couple weeks since your last...  _ visit?” _

He watches with wide-awake eyes as the tentacle before some strange, small rip of space waves with apparent laughter, motioning vividly with the demon’s words, “Oh, Pine Tree, don’t say it like that! You’ll give me...  _ ideas.” _

Even absolutely alone, having to just endure the spectacle of looking at an impossible tear in the fabric reality like it was an ordinary occurrence, rather than the cosmic horror that it really should be, knowing such things were possible.

But really, he knows that this is about the extent of Bill’s power.

Perhaps, if things had gone slightly differently on their summer trip to Gravity Falls so many years ago, he would have the ability to do things that were, indeed, truly horrific.

But mid-level demon that he’s been rendered ever since, this was the best Bill could do. Push one of his limbs—in this case, a tentacle that he usually liked to hide in another forbidden dimension—through a portal between planes, just barely large enough to allow the full length of the black, inky arm to exist right there upon his bed.

Dipper finally sighs, accepting that he probably wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, anyways.

“What kind of...  _ ideas?” _ he asks, knowing fully well as he sits up in nothing but his boxer-briefs, just how cheesy all of this sounding.

“Oh, you know,” says an invisible mouth, probably smiling with the tone of his voice, somewhere far, far away and sitting near a fire place in some cabin in the woods, “just the typical kind of  _ ideas. _ Ones that make it hard to sleep, not that I do that, but I mean it as a figure of speech... I think.”

Dipper laughs a little at that himself, sliding his legs all the way from out of the covers as something deep in his body begins to become very excited at all the odd things happening right before his very eyes.

And his hands.

He just can’t help but reach out with both of them, at first soft, gentle, hesitant, but soon growing as confident as always, touching the almost indescribable, sticky, but not actually sticky; wet, but not leaving much liquid at all on his hands, somehow, texture of just one of Bill’s many tentacles.

He hears a voice groan, echoing in the large space of his own mind, as though bouncing off the walls of his skull and back again. It has an almost dizzying effect, making his eyes glaze over as he continues working the long, curling blackness as though it were a cock.

Speaking of which...

“Gods, you’re so damn good at that, Dip... So much practice, i-it’s so obvious, haha, oh, fuck...” the demon sighs, overcome with lust at simply being stroked upon a sensitive stretch of flesh—much like having an inner thigh rubbed, or an ear nipped—but without even feeling actual, genuine pleasure.

Dipper swallows the growing lump in his throat at the twitching of the inky thing that was actually kind of hard to see—or maybe just to even conceive of in his mind—making his vision blur slightly every time he looks at it, always keeping it just out of focus to hide the details of its swirling appearance, his fingers feeling a similar numbness even as they press into the featureless, incomparable thing. He calls it a tentacle, but it’s only because it’s hard to think of what else it even could be called.

He hears the catches of Bill’s breath, the quiet groans already—although his room is actually perfectly silent—and clears his throat again.

“C-can I have the... real thing?”

“ ‘Real thing’?” Bill teases, as the tentacle slips from his hand like a slippery fish, effortless as it weaves back into the portal, leaving only a black hole that makes his head hurt when he even tries to turn towards it, so he looks away for the moment.

“Oh!” Bill gasps, chuckling as something begins to poke back through the portal. “You must mean my cock, don’t you?”

And sure enough, there it is, right before him.

It, too, is somewhat tentacle-like. But just like that other limb, it was much too hard to perceive fully to really begin to understand it. All he can gather through the daze and confusion of trying to focus on it was that it was slightly blunter, shorter, but also thicker, not so tapered at the end.

And although he’s never seen it actually on a full body—nor but vague ideas not his own of the body, too, sadly—he can definitely imagine it sitting square between whatever kind of legs he might have, just as hard and throbbing as it is now.

Dipper licks his lips, and then he just can’t help himself, as he closes his eyes and crawls forward on the bed.

He hears a loud groan in his head, ending in a low growl, a snarl that makes his back dip, own bulge stiffen in interest between his legs.

“O-oh, yes,” he hears him practically purr, has to merely imagine that a hand would be pulling through his hair now, “you always do such a wonderful job of sucking cock, don’t you, my dear little cock slut?”

Dipper hears himself whimper around the length in his own mouth, a strange, needy sound. But in a scenario like this, he figures it fits perfectly, and focuses his mind on trying to please the cock between his lips.

Really tries to focus. Because naturally, his mind keeps going out of focus like a bad camera, seconds slipping like sand between splayed fingers before he forces himself to bear down on the current moment to not just become a mindless creature.

But it was so damn hard.

He runs his tongue on the underside of the throbbing, too-warm cock in his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth as he begins to shift his entire body on his small bed, getting far too into it.

It’s so easy to let his logical self slip away, become nothing but a mindless puppet to the strange sensations taking over him over, all through the cock he happily forces down his own throat.

“Ah, how a mere couple weeks passes so quickly, but also feels like forever, hm, my pet? I bet you think of nothing but doing  _ this _ the entire time, every night, at least. Hoping, begging, waiting for some sign of me to slip through to say hello, hm? Oh, fuck, but how I’ve missed your skilled little mouth too-A-ah, yeah, just like that, right on the tip...”

Words of praise that make his body feel like liquid, cock at full attention and only able to twitch and leak between his thighs pressing together in the hands-and-knees position he was in right now.

He can even vividly imagine there being a real, tangible body towering over him, pulling his hair slightly and forcing him further onto his cock that can only thrust in short bursts through the limiting portal.

But he tries to focus, really does.

And once his mouth is filled with the sappy, sweet bitterness of what he can only imagine is Bill’s version of pre-cum, he manages to pull himself away from his certain doom.

Then he turns, still crawling on his bed, knowing fully well from past  _ experiences, _ that Bill could fully see him in his all-seeing eye on him, and only him.

And right when he pulls his underwear down, there’s something slick, wet, and thin already at his hole.

“See what I mean?” the voice reverberates, so just barely out of reality that he swears he can feel the vibrato throughout his body.

“You’re already prepped, as you do every night, hmhmhm,” he laughs to himself, the tip of the tentacle Dipper had jerked off earlier swirling around his soft, pink hole, as though to prove it.

“But as you know, sometimes a demon is busy with boring things, and can’t fuck their human whore a thousand miles across the country, as much as he might like...

“Oh, but why am I boring you with things you already know, Dipper?” Bill sighs, beginning to push the tiny slit of the tentacle into his slightly gaping hole. “When I could be showing you something new, all over again?”

Dipper’s world implodes in pleasure as that  _ thing _ thrusts inside of him, at first lightning fast, and then steadily slower until it pauses at about the girth of a normal cock, at least, one that wasn’t extra-dimensional and twice the size of Dipper’s own.

As the pleasure races up his spine and straight to his mouth still covered in spit and purple-tinted cum, Dipper begins to let out a loud, moaning keen.

But he finds he can’t.

Because then there’s something else pressing against his mouth, slithering, sliding against his lips until they open to gasp at the sight of its mind-bending form, pressing inside at the chance of the opening.

And then there’s two tentacles: one still burying itself into his tight ass, the other swirling around his tongue to suffocate his cries that would surely stir his sister’s precious slumber in the very next room.

As Dipper closes his eyes, arms giving out so he’s lying with only his ass still in the air to meet the portal placed just at hip height upon the bed, he manages to think a little past the overwhelming pleasure.

Think of the groans, the words calling him a slut and complimenting his pretty mouth or his soft, wonderful hole in the same sentence. How utterly ridiculous he must look: spit-roasted between two tentacle-like abominations bending the very fragile fabric of spacetime just to invade his personal bedroom and fuck him in the dark, only the slight light of the moon from the window allowing any vision at all.

But what use is vision, or even thinking, when he can simply moan against the tentacle, grind his ass against the other, trying to take it even fucking deeper, body lighting up from within at the electricity sparking straight from his prostate.

“Do you want it, Dipper?” Bill asks over his own groans, ones that make it sound like he might even be palming his erection, just maybe.

At the delirious nonsense that is his reply, the demon chuckles, dragging the tentacles out from both ends and leaving his whore panting and whining all at once.

“I said,” he repeats, pseudo-patiently, “do you want  _ it?” _

From that tone of voice, Dipper knows exactly what he means.

He nods, hard, fast, desperate, gasping, “Y-yes yes yes-” until the sound didn’t even have meaning to his own fucking ears.

“Good slut,” Bill’s voice snickers low and close, so real he can swear he feels warm breath on his neck.

And Dipper goes from dreadfully, awfully empty, to full of thick, veiny cock in one single second.

But just as he had so graciously but a minute ago, another tentacle strangles him right before he makes a scream of pained pleasure, agony and euphoria all in one at being fucked full of the cock that he had been dreaming of for so many nights now.

He hears Bill sigh with his own hot pleasure, say something sweet about what a wonderfully warm ass he had, how tight and velvety he felt around his hard cock.

Just biding time, biting his lip as he stands at his own desk, multiple tears that he was now thrusting numerous appendages into.

“Are you ready for me to move, Dip-”

“Yes!” he cries, as the tentacle allows him to choke out the words, just for a moment.

He can hear the smile in the wet, joyous click of Bill’s lips.

And then the tentacle is shoved right back in, just as his cock snaps out, only to thrust right back in, hard as his supernatural form can manage.

Which is to say, so hard it makes Dipper literally black out for a second.

But then he’s back in it, back in to squeeze his eyes shut rolling back in his skull at the toe-curling, absolutely mind-blowing pleasure from the cock in his ass, the tentacle slipping down his esophagus and making him feel like a true, literal whore.

It clicks in his mind, just then, listening to a man he can hear but can’t see, being fucked in two ends by phallic things attached to a body unable to touch him, how oddly the scene mirrored the stereotypical hook-up in a bar bathroom; like a couple glory holes in a cheap stall, and he was the little slut so desperate for cock he’d take it from any source he could find.

But, at the same time, it was so, so far from that.

Inky blackness just barely seeming to play nice with reality to exist in the first place inside of it—but not enough to abide fully by its rules to even appear as any lawful concept—tentacles dark and streaking his pale skin with a semi-transparent violet, absolutely other-worldly even as he did the very human thing of fucking his ass to pieces.

That silken voice keeps talking to him, so loud and whole in his mind that it becomes his only thought, just praise, praise, praise, mingling with the full-body pleasure that rendered him useless, only able to take the cock thrusting wildly in and out of his ass, whimper and moan around the thing still gagging him nice and deep, forcing tears from his eyes just as his massive cock forces cum straight from his twitching cock.

And maybe it’s just the delirium, the effect that that voice and his body and all this weird, inexplicable shit has on his weak human psyche.

But Dipper swears,  _ swears,  _ as his body heats to a boiling point, tight coil in his stomach curling and curling until he’s just about to snap, that he feels more and more things roaming across his body: tentacles, tips wet with their own version of absolutely strange cum, dragging across his bare legs, arms, chest, nipples, back, just absolutely covering him in smooth, sliding skin until he can only come to the conclusion that there must be dozens, hundreds, thousands of the things all reaching, grabbing, pulling, twisting-

Dipper blacks out for another moment.

And he comes back only to find himself lying face-down, legs splayed out uselessly behind him, on his own bed.

Wondering how he got there, what happened, even as his own cock pulsed, telling him that he’d obviously just cum. Only flickers of burning hot pleasure quickly disappearing in his stomach.

He heaves breath like he’d just run a mile, mind racing over foggy details as he tries to understand how what he swears had just happened, even could have happened.

But just as the cock and one, lonely tentacle slide out of him, it all disappears like a latent dream, there one moment and then forgotten forever the next.

But he still hears Bill’s voice in his head, quieter, out-of-breath, having spent most of his energy cumming... or... something.

“Absolutely wonderful, Dipper. You take my cock and everything I can give you so amazing, it’s almost shameful, or no, it definitely is. Hah, but I came so hard inside of you, I think I’ll be sated for an entire week, now!”

He can hear him laughing, tone so full of lust and joy and pure love that he wished more than anything in the world at that moment, that he could just touch him, hug him, kiss him.

But he can’t.

Because he’s stuck in his boring old room in a boring old city in his boring old life, knowing he’ll never return to Gravity Falls.

Knowing that all Bill Cipher will ever be anymore is just this. Just something that comes every so often for a quick, but absolutely amazing fuck, and then leaves, back to their separate lives, only the cool feeling of his cum leaking out of his ruined hole and mouth as proof that what had just happened, did actually happen.

But then he hears Bill change that completely.

Because, for some reason, he says, “But come a week’s time, and I’ll be wanting just the same as I had before. And so, I think that this time, I’ll see you soon, Dipper.”

And he never has said that before. Because it’s always just an “until next time” or maybe simply “have a good night”. Sweet platitudes, Dipper responding the same, but secretly wanting more. So much more.

But “see you soon”?

But before Dipper can ask what in the fuck he means by that, Bill ends their little telepathic connection with a simple snap of his fingers, still grinning to himself slightly even as he cleans his still-throbbing, but softening cock, of lube and spit and cum.

Oh, yes, he thinks to himself, pulling his tentacles back in his body and into nowhere at all.

He would finally see his dear old friend. In the flesh. For real. For the very first time.

Because, sure, demon business of growing one’s power through dark rituals and tragic sacrifices was pretty boring, but it sure did work, if his little stunt of tonight was anything to go by.

And, yeah, if he knows anything of Gravity Fall’s ex-detective, it’s that he’ll probably be mad at him for all that, at first.

But he’d get over that pretty quickly, when after years of yearning, longing, dreaming, he holds him in his actual arms.

Cranes his neck to smell just how he’d always imagined his hair to smell, touches his skin with fingers to show how his eyes had always worshipped them every single night, meets his lips in a kiss that could only begin to exemplify the amount that he absolutely adored this one, specific, very special human being.

In the tightest, warmest, weirdest embrace barely knowable to all of mankind.

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
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> 
> Ty for reading! ^^ Got a little sad at the end, so I just had to flip it around lol. Will I one day write about that actual body and how it will finally be able to pin Dipper down the way both of them have always wanted? :D I don’t know! But ty regardless, hehe!


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